Monday, September 7, 2009

It's Personal: You Decide... Broken Bones

Nothing was worse than double sessions. I've also heard them called two-a-days. Those ridiculously humid days that made football players pray for school to begin. We arrived at 7:30 a.m. and suited up. Once outside, we stretched and ran a bit. Then we broke into groups and perfected our respective skills. Running backs took hand offs and ran. Quarterbacks learned snap counts and maneuvering. Receivers ran routes and caught the ball. Suffice it to say, I wasn't a skill guy. No, I was a lineman. And as a lineman, we hit. And hit. And hit some more. Normally in close proximity. But always smashing against someone else. After practicing our respective skills, we came together as a team and tried some plays. It was my junior year and I was actually vying for the position at left guard as a 5'10" 160 lb lineman. Doesn't say much for our team, I know. Well, there I was on the second team and the QB called a play that had me pulling to kick out the end. The ball snapped, I swung my arm down as I as taught. And I punched the unblocked defensive tackle squarely in the helmet. Ouch. I played for the remainder of that practice, pulling and trapping and such. I kept my swelling hand a secret and went home that night. I didn't speak a word of it to anyone. The next day, I went to practice and kept playing. Until one of my teammates noticed my hand. Ballooned to a ridiculous size and an odd greenish color. He told the coach. And I went to the doctor. Broken. Out 6 weeks. Sheesh...

My first game ever playing football. That's when it happened. I sustained the worst injury I've ever had. In the first game I ever played. On the first play, no less. It was my freshman year. I don't even remember who we were playing. Branford, maybe. We stretched. Banged helmets profusely. Listened to our crazy coach give a pep talk that inspired me to run head first into a tree. There was the kickoff. I was too fat and slow for that at the time. So, the first play for me was a defensive one. I was at tackle. First rule of playing defensive tackle? Hell, first rule of playing any line position? Don't stand straight up. I stood straight up. So did the guard who was blocking me. Neither of us made any progress. Until the center decided to throw an illegal block that no one saw. He caught my leg. And snapped it. I fell clutching the obscenely broken leg. The play ended. And I didn't get up. The coach ran out. The other players looked at me as if I were a circus performer. You might guess that the paramedics came and got me off the field and brought me to the hospital. And they did, 45 minutes after that play happened. Ah yes, the refs decided to start the game without an ambulance on site. So, I waited there writhing in pain while the old man and the coach talked to me. What they said, I have no idea. I was too out of it. The paramedics finally arrived. And that's about when I lost total consciousness. I awoke to find that they had put a rod in my leg. A few days later, the doctors told me that I had Compartment Syndrome. A blood clot was moving through my body. If it happened to stop at my heart, goodbye TD. But it didn't. They did have to take a skin graft from just below my butt to cover the unclosed wound near my calf. But everything went well from there. I should say it went as well as could be expected given the circumstances. And I played football again into my senior year...

So, for those of you non-family members, which happened to me?

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